


Instant Gratification

by tenscupcake



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Masturbation, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 02:16:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7826293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenscupcake/pseuds/tenscupcake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During spare time between classes, the Doctor is supposed to be grading exams, but he has other things on his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Instant Gratification

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, kinda can't believe this happened. It's been a whirlwind, tbh. As you guys know since AM I've been struggling with resentment of Tentoo, and haven't really wanted anything to do with him. Reading or writing or otherwise. It's been for months now. 
> 
> But I read this fic last night, finally, and didn't feel any anger or sadness. And I thought it was a sign that maybe I was starting to heal. Sooooo my pal Amber suggested I ease myself back into the Tentoo world with a fluffy oneshot, rather than diving straight back into AM. And I just thought of this idea and it wouldn't let me go. And bam, I got it done the same day. Like I said, whirlwind. 
> 
> Anyway, it's pretty unbeta'd, because I want to get back to focusing on EP straight away, so please forgive mistakes and stylistic errors. But I hope you guys enjoy this little thing! It's really just fluff and smut. Okay, it's smut. With a little fluff.

Gnawing his pen cap between his back molars, the Doctor glances up at his computer to check the time. Again.

12:27.

Thirty-three minutes until his next class. Upper division astrophysics – one of his favorite courses to teach.

He docks a few points off a short-answer question, scribbles out an explanation why.

He needs to be center stage in a lecture hall, dry-erase marker in his hand, microphone clipped to his collar. In front of an audience of hundreds of the next generation’s bright young minds, eyes glued to the board, ears trained on his voice. Teaching a class is immersive enough that it occupies the majority of his part-human brain. But being stuck in his claustrophobic office with a half-graded stack of Phys 101 exams – one of his least favorite courses to teach – is not a good environment for him to be in.

He marks an ‘84’ on the last page of the packet in his hands.

The younger students all filled their weekly quota for office hours the day before the exam, and he knows the older Physics majors have Quantum Mechanics with Professor Fasel at this hour. Unlikely he’ll have any visitors at all before he has to pack up his satchel and head across campus, and grading these dull, introductory-level exams is not sufficiently enthralling to refocus his intellect from distractions.

And right now, he is very distracted.

He records the number in his open Excel spreadsheet and swipes the next exam from the stack, but his eyes glaze over as he stares at the first page. The academic integrity warning and the student’s name and ID number scrawled in pencil are little more than unintelligible symbols.

He forgot the lunch he’d packed last night in the fridge, leftover stir-fry from dinner, and his stomach gurgles unpleasantly every few minutes. But just south of that occasional rumbling, his single heartbeat throbs behind the zip of his trousers.

Desperate for a diversion, his eyes roam over his desk until they land on the small photo of Rose pinned to the bulletin board next to his computer. Her hand rests on the cleavage of her glistening blue dress, eyes crinkle with jubilant laughter. Glossy red lips are parted in a brilliant smile that lifts her softly rounded pink cheeks. Most of her golden hair is pulled up into an elegant bun, but a couple of free ringlets frame her face.

It was the business version of Pete’s birthday party, shortly after they arrived in this universe. The Doctor had wanted a picture of Rose for his new phone, and she reluctantly agreed to pose for him in front of a rose bush. But just before his thumb pressed the circle, a passing server had bumped into him, spilling shrimp cocktail down the front of his rented tuxedo. Rose had instantly buckled over with laughter, and the Doctor was so glad to see her smile that he had chuckled along with her, and snapped an image of the unfortunate moment anyway.

She looked so beautiful that night. She looks just as beautiful now, even through the lens of the low-resolution print of the picture on the wall, and he shivers with want.

He shifts in his chair, crosses his legs under his desk, a feeble attempt to relieve the pressure, but the rustling fabric creates light, delicious friction that has the opposite effect. His length pulses with heat as it wakes, fights to escape the clothes that restrain it.

Bugger.

He’s at _school_ , for gods’ sake. This is unacceptable. Unprofessional, juvenile, and perverted.

He shakes his head and struggles to focus on the paper on his desk. Turns the page and looks at the first problem, tries to make sense of the text of the question and the answer written beneath it.

He can’t shoulder the entirety of the blame, though. He spent 99.9% of his life a Time Lord that rarely experienced this degree of desire by himself. That could easily suppress these types of autonomic responses, if they ever did arise at an inappropriate time. He’s new to human sexuality, and it’s been hitting him hard these days. His newfangled reproductive system has this annoying tendency to demand instant gratification, to steal all the blood from his brain until he can’t think. Well, until he can’t think of anything except Rose. Her full lips and her soft skin and the way she gasps out his name when she’s about to come.

Right now happens to be one of those times.

Satisfied enough the student answered the first question correctly, he sluggishly shifts his eyes down to the second, knuckles white around his pen.

Rose had left the flat early this morning. (Part of the reason he forgot his lunch; she normally reminds him to grab it.) He’d woken up hard from a particularly randy dream, ready to roll over on top of her and ravish her before work, only to find a post-it note on her side of the bed wishing him a good day of classes. To make matters worse, he’d forgotten to change his alarm time from the day before, so he was running late for his first class of the morning. He nicked himself shaving in his rush to carve out some extra time to relieve himself before leaving the house. And ironically, stopping the bleeding and changing his blood-stained shirt are what made him run out of time.

He picks up his phone from across the desk to check the countdown, this time.

12:31.

It’s only been four minutes.

He thumbs in his passcode and re-reads the last few messages in his text thread with Rose just to pass the time. If he can just make it to 12:50, he can walk to class early and this untimely arousal will subside while he teaches. It always does.

 _Why’d you leave so early?_ He had texted her from the lift.

 _Jake called and begged me,_ she had replied just before his first lecture started.

 _Missed you,_ he’d texted back. _And forgot my lunch._

_You’re hopeless without me._

_Quite._

So, incredibly hopeless. He drops his phone back on his desk and pushes it away. Perches his elbows on his desk and runs his hands through his hair as he stares back down at the exam.

He can’t do this. He can’t wait until he sees her at home tonight. He can’t wait until class.

He holds still and employs his part-Time Lord auricular faculties to listen through the door. The hallway seems relatively silent, only a handful of isolated footfalls and conversations between other professors. And like he’s already established, it’s highly unlikely he’ll be getting any students at his door.

He briefly considers going to the north end of the building, using a stall in the men’s restroom. But he doesn’t exactly have a great record of keeping silent, even by himself. And all those tile surfaces in the toilets reverberate even the smallest of noises.

No. His office is the safest place to be.

He only needs forty-five or sixty seconds, with how far gone he is. Sixty seconds.

Thirty-two times that many seconds have already passed without a single visitor.

Even if he did get one in the next twenty-odd minutes, they wouldn’t just barge right in. University courtesy dictates that everyone knocks before entering a closed office door, regardless of student or faculty member status.

A minute. He just needs a minute.

Resolved not to waste any more time, he deftly unfastens his trousers and pulls his chair further under his desk. Creates some measure of privacy for himself as he frees his swollen member from his pants.

A curse falls from his lips as he wraps his fingers around himself and tugs up towards the desk, firmly. He sets up a punishing rhythm, determined to climax as fast as possible and get this over with. The friction burns his skin but the pleasure overrides the pain, and his head slumps back against the top of the chair as he chokes back a groan. He imagines Rose is here, that it’s her softer, smaller hand closed around him, pushing and pulling the taut skin there, kissing along his jaw and his neck and whispering filthy encouragements in his ear.

He’s already close.

Instinctively, his other hand reaches blindly for the tissue box on his left.

But before his fingers can find it, the door to his office swings open.

\---

“Surprise!” Rose calls as she pushes the door open. “Brought you some takeou–“

Her jaw drops open and she freezes in place when she catches sight of the Doctor. Head thrown back against his chair, eyes closed, tendons in his neck protruding, his right hand under his desk suspiciously close to where she figures his crotch is. Upon her entry, he scrambles out of his trance, sitting up straight and pulling his hand out from concealment. But his legs flail too much underneath him, and his chair rolls out slightly from under the desk, just enough to confirm her suspicion. His red, swollen cock bobs against his jacket, then his thigh, with the sudden movement.

 “Ohmygod are you insane!?” She glances back quickly to confirm no one in the hall saw the display before slamming the door closed behind her.

“Rose,” he gasps out, glancing down guiltily at his exposed manhood before concealing it with both hands.

“Someone could walk in ‘ere any minute!” she scolds. “A student, no less!”

“I know, I just… I needed a minute,” he huffs, still out of breath.

“Blimey, Doctor…” She shakes her head.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, hanging his head. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Oh.

He’s wearing his brown suit today – the one she custom ordered for him. Must’ve been grading papers before this… _incident_ , because he still has those sexy reading glasses on. His face is flushed, cheeks and forehead a lovely, enticing shade of pink. As awful as she knows it is that he’s wanking in his office at a bloody _university_ , and as much as she knows she should berate him for his lack of self-control, all she wants to do is finish what he started.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, professionally, trying to regain some composure.

“You told me you forgot your lunch,” she explains. “I brought Thai.” She holds up the white plastic bag in her hand.

“Thank you, Rose, that’s… thank you.” He blushes redder than ever, and it’s obvious his erection has not subsided.

“Were you close?” she asks, softer.

He nods, swallowing hard.

She takes a few steps toward his desk, and sets the bag of food on a clear patch of empty space amidst the paperwork and clutter.

“How long ‘til you leave for class?”

He reaches a hand up to poke the spacebar on his keyboard, and checks the top right corner.

“Eighteen minutes. Give or take.”

“Don’t look like you need that long.” She smirks, raising an eyebrow.

He shakes his head with a chuckle.

She steps around his desk, staring down at his erection, barely concealed by his left hand.

“Really couldn’t wait for me?” she asks.

He shakes his head again, and she giggles. How can she be anything but flattered, when he looks this embarrassed and vulnerable? When he’s so hopelessly besotted with her that he occasionally has to resort to touching himself at work when she crosses his mind? She has to admit, she likes this slightly hopeless, hormonal version of her Doctor.

“What about tonight, when I want to do stuff?” She nudges his knee with hers.

“I promise you, Rose, that will not be a problem.”

“You sure?” she asks, straddling his knees and lowering herself onto his lap.

“Very sure,” he nods vigorously.

“What’s gotten into you today?” she asks, mostly to tease him, as she pulls his hand away and wraps her hand around his warm, rigid length.

“Had a… dream about you last night,” he rushes out with a moan, his eyes drifting closed.

“An’ I wasn’t there when you woke up?” she guesses, her voice dipping low and seductive.

“Mmhh,” he shakes his head.

“No one’s gonna walk in, are they?” She glances back at the closed door.

“N-no, the… no.” If he was about to offer an explanation why, he clearly decided against it. He grinds his teeth together as he fidgets beneath her, struggling to keep quiet. “I’m so close, Rose,” he whispers.

She quickly scans his desk for something to keep semen off the clothes he’s meant to wear to lecture in a few minutes. Spotting a box of tissues, she grabs one in her hand before she realizes there is a better way to solve the problem. She lets the tissue float to the floor, and slides off his lap, releasing his length from her grip.

“No, don’t stop, please!” he pleads, raising his voice too much for the discretion their circumstances require.

She puts a finger over his lips, shushing him.

“I don’t want you to come all over your suit,” she murmurs.

Confident that any teasing at this point would be cruel, she sinks to her knees and closes her lips around him. Gently sucks the tip between her teeth before she takes him in further, tracing a thick vein with her tongue.

The Doctor cries out, squirming beneath her palms.

“Oi.” He slips out of her mouth as she scolds him quietly. “Quiet, or I’m not doin’ this,” she threatens. He doesn’t have to know that she would never follow through on the threat. That even if a neighboring professor walked in right now, she still probably wouldn’t pull away until he finished in her mouth.

He murmurs a vow of silence, one of his hands clutching behind her head to urge her to continue, and she returns to her task. Bobs her head slowly, swirls her tongue around the head with every retreating stroke. Hollows out her cheeks, nibbles lightly on the hot, salty skin with her teeth.

He whimpers above her, his heavy breathing muffled by something, and she glances up to find his other hand sealed tightly over his mouth. She doesn’t let up her pace, and he writhes in his chair, back arching, hips bucking up into her mouth, foot kicking the desk in front of him. The warm liquor of pleasure spurts onto her tongue, salty and bitter, and she eases him through it, delicate suction, slower caresses of her tongue as he shrinks and softens between her lips.

When she releases him, he’s limp in his chair, chest heaving as he catches his breath. Returning to her seat on his lap, she covers his mouth with hers hungrily. Perhaps it was a bad idea, making him come like this when she knows he can’t return the favor for hours. Hearing him like that, feeling him under her mercy, it tends to make her a little mad. Still recovering from the orgasm, he reciprocates lazily, lips barely moving against hers. For several moments, his only substantial contribution to the kiss is a long, muffled sigh of content.

When he finally comes to, his mouth drifts from hers, lips warm and wet under her jaw and down her neck. Like he’s forgotten where they are again.

When she tries to pull back, he wraps his arms around her lower back to keep her in place, his tongue circling a sensitive spot near the join of her shoulder. His name on her lips, she lets him linger there for a few moments, relaxing in his embrace. But she can’t let it continue, or she’ll insist on keeping him from lecturing this afternoon to shag under his desk.

Mustering all the strength she can, she tugs back on his hair until he pulls away with a messy smack. She wriggles her bum back until he releases her waist, too, disappointment on his face.

“Tonight,” she promises as she climbs off him and gets to her feet. “It’ll be my turn tonight.”

The Doctor growls playfully. “Oh, yes.”

Unfortunately for him, his stomach just happens to growl at the same time.

Rose fails to hold back her laughter, and crosses his arms across his chest, pouting his bottom lip and mumbling something about being rude.

“Right now, skinny boy,” she tears open the knot in the plastic bag and starts opening the takeout containers. “You need to get some food in you before class.” She looks over to his computer, to find only three minutes have passed, and chuckles to herself again. “Fifteen minutes to eat,” she adds. “An’ zip up your trousers.” She nods down to his now droopy length.

“Yes, ma’am.” He salutes with a couple fingers before tucking himself back into his pants and fastening his trousers.

\---

They part ways in the hall fifteen minutes later, and she watches the Doctor practically skip down the hall, greeting a few colleagues along the way. He twirls around before he rounds the corner at the far end, beaming from ear to ear with a final wave. Blushing furiously, she turns around and heads for the car park, hoping none of the professors passing by suspects the cause of his joyful mood.


End file.
